


The Temptation

by TheGirlWithBrightEyes



Series: Fragments of Life [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Best Friends, Friendship/Love, History, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 22:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19473619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWithBrightEyes/pseuds/TheGirlWithBrightEyes
Summary: Basis for a series of my Good Omens works which fills in some of the blanks for episode 3 of Good Omens and some explanations why Crowley were where he was at certain points in time. Crowleys POV how Aziraphale went from acquaintance to friend to love, I found that his attitude towards Aziraphale really seemed to change after Rome 41 A.D. and his fear of Hell (i.e. needing Holy Water) came much, much later which indicates something must have happened to trigger the need for protection. Going from there to when Aziraphale gives him the thermos of Holy Water.May go into further depth with Aziraphale eventually as well.Lots and lots of footnotes. Feel free to use as inspiration for fics and if you do, please comment with a link because I would love to read it!





	The Temptation

Crowley was a gourmet. He'd never really bothered with eating unless it was high class, expensive foods - often with some kind of recommendation of sorts. Most of the six thousand years he'd spent on Earth had been plagued by quite unappetizing food, so it was sporadically at most that he ate anything. The same could be said about drinking, most of the liquors he favoured where fine, stored for a long time before consumption[1]. That and tea, of course, but whenever he did drink it, it was without milk or sugar.

Aziraphale on the other hand... While the angel thankfully shared his delight in fine spirits, he was much less choosy with a more curious approach when it came to food. It was also not at all uncommon to find him at the cake buffets or little Afternoon Tea places whenever he felt peckish, the angel did like his sweet things. There was, however, moments when the angel's idea of a good lunch or supper overlapped with Crowley's. In fact, that had really been the turning point as far as Crowley was concerned.

After the Garden of Eden he'd not given much thought to the angel and his whereabouts, and their paths didn't really cross often. It could be hundreds of years between meetings. That is to say, until he happened to walk into the same drinking place as Aziraphale around 40 A.D, feeling rather low after hearing news of what Caligula had done during the king of Mauretania's visit[2]. He was slightly surprised that Aziraphale took the initiative to talk to him this time - usually it had been him that struck up conversation. He realised why given how bad the angel seemed to be at it, asking something so stupid as whether he was still a demon or not. He figured it could have had something to do with what he'd said about Jesus but he couldn't be sure. It wasn't that long ago, after all.

He felt quite amused as Aziraphale stopped himself trying to tempt the demon into having oysters with him. If he'd been able to put a finger on the feeling then, he'd have said he felt fondness for the hopelessly clumsy angel trying to invite him for lunch.

It was the first time they had dined together, and the oysters had been excellent. Crowley had leisurely cleaned oyster after oyster listening to Aziraphale talk - a first for them, too. They'd never really sat down to socialise before this and Crowley found he rather liked listening to Aziraphale telling him of this and that and putting in recommendations for eateries here and there, placed all over the Roman world[3]. Either way, it cheered Crowley up and he felt, somehow, that the two of them grew closer. Right there and then, it didn't matter much that they were an angel and a demon. They were two acquaintances having dinner together.

When they parted ways after the dinner, Crowley felt strangely lonely. Of course, being a cosmic entity that never really stayed long in one place - and didn't age and die - he didn't acquire any human friends or acquaintances unless they were of the quite temporary kind. It wasn't really a matter of getting hurt or confuse the people around him but for someone who was as old as Crowley was, humans - while useful - couldn't really ever understand what it was like to be as old as he was. He'd been on Earth for four thousand years at that point, and he'd been old even before Earth was created in the first place. No. Only another immortal could ever grasp what it was like to have lived for so long. Someone like Aziraphale.

Over the next odd thousand years, they met considerably more often than before. One of the reasons being that there were big shifts in the late 400th A.D. after Western Rome fell and a struggle for power started that both Hell and Heaven wanted to influence in pretty much the same areas. The other reason being that Crowley kept an eye out for Aziraphale. Their more frequent meetings and his careful wheedling with the angel had eventually resulted in his award in 1020: the Arrangement.

At that point, Crowley had grown increasingly fond of the angel - granted he did try his patience now and then with his stubborn righteousness - but on the whole he quite liked meeting Aziraphale to discuss their work, share experiences - and good food. It meant he wouldn't have to actively look for the angel anymore, the hunt had gotten quite old after a few hundred years.

Things went well. That is, until the fourteenth century. It had started with famine and plague and the blasted century didn't get any better... All of this had been mostly a manmade disaster, and without any instructions from Hell Crowley didn't know what to do about it. They seemed content to watch for now. Crowley, however, couldn't. He'd watched God drown even children when Noah built his ark, and he'd be damned if he'd let that happen again. So he'd tried talking to Aziraphale about it, but the angel had been of pretty much the same opinion as with the ark: God's plan was ineffable and who was he to question it? Crowley had gotten seriously angry with him at this point and said quite a few things he regretted deeply afterwards, but in the heat of panic over the world falling apart in front of his eyes he hadn't been able to help himself. His anger with the angel had lasted half a century, during which he'd done whatever he could to limit the outbreaks of plague and make whatever remained of the population strong enough to revolt against the oppressive and decadent nobles making war for sport. Once they did, he'd gone into hiding in a house in Spain[4], feeling terrible from the strain of trying to fix things without doing good. He'd slept for decades until he'd had word from Hell with great praise for the Spanish Inquisition[5].

He'd had no clue what they were talking about - not that he'd let them know that - but it raised his salary considerably so he wasn't about to complain. He did feel that he'd better find out what this Spanish Inquisition thing was though.

Afterwards, he'd deeply regretted that he popped out to check. After the disaster of the fourteenth century he'd had quite enough of large scale death, let alone murders. He'd gone back home and took to the only way he knew to drown his feelings by getting piss drunk for a week until Aziraphale found him barely coherent. The angel had dragged him out of the drinking establishment and spent a few days nursing Crowley's hangover and tried to get him to tell him what had happened to put him in a right state.

In the end, he'd told him and to Aziraphale's credit he'd listened seriously with a sad look on his face. He'd never mentioned it again and Crowley felt he'd never really thanked the angel for bringing him out of his misery. He'd even eventually followed his recommendation and moved to Great Britain, which was considerably more peaceful - especially once Elizabeth I had ascended the throne.

When he'd last been in this part of Europe the capital had still been Winchester so this was where he went and returned to his old house. It felt old and derelict after being abandoned for so long, so over a few years he made it a bit of a project in between his usual assignments and meetings with Aziraphale, who at the time resided in his beloved Shropshire. It was around this time Crowley started considering whether he was getting soft on Aziraphale, since he repeatedly found himself unable to say no when the angel gave him _the look_. Bright, questioning and expectant eyes. And he always knew what the angel wanted, whether he liked it or not. It was impossible not to know after all these years. So he'd humoured him with little things, like making Hamlet a success. It could hardly count as a good deed to bore people out of their minds, would it?

Life was rather peaceful in the following years as they watched Britain grow after the death of Elizabeth I[6], only intervening whenever their respective sides sent word. At the end of the 17th century, Crowley had word that London had burned[7] and was being rebuilt, something that intrigued him enough to relocate. He lent a hand here and there on his own accord, quite happy with being part of shaping and developing the city and making himself a sizeable apartment for him and all his artworks in the process.

Aziraphale turned up now and then from Shropshire, drawn to the restaurants that had started cropping up, and they spent many social meetings on pubs and eateries across the steadily growing city. It was on one of these occasions that Aziraphale confided that his book collection had started growing over his head and that he was thinking of starting a bookshop to have somewhere to store them all. Crowley had, out of sheer fondness of the angel, promised to make him a nice place in the new district in Westminster[8], which had a lot of churches and quite a lot of nobility[9] as well. He felt sure the angel would feel quite at home there.

18th century - that's when stuff really started to happen in the world according to Crowley. For someone who'd watched the humans trudge along with bright flares of invention now and then next to flashes of pure evil this was a very exciting development indeed. Everything from steam engines and scientists to glorious painters and composers. Crowley lavished in it, trying to be everywhere as much as he could, going to hundreds if not thousands of concerts, exhibitions and demonstrations and the angel would often join him. It was clear, however, that Aziraphale did not much appreciate the world of gears, steam and noise. In his opinion, too much was happening all at once, with empires rising and falling around them. The angel was soon helplessly out of touch with what was then modern life and could not share Crowley's enthusiasm about it.

Of course, not all of the things that happened to push the world into the Industrial Revolution was good even if they were necessary. There were plenty of wars and uprisings from the working class, some of them fuelled on by Crowley - either by his own design to propel science forward, or orders from Hell. He sometimes trusted Aziraphale with these, but he knew that the angel didn't want things to move on quite as fast as they did, and he hated both horses and large ships.

Aziraphale's falling out with modern times turned out to be a bit of a nuisance during the French Revolution[10] though, something that had started out well enough and then become the Reign of Terror as the humans got overexcited. Crowley _had_ been involved in the Revolution as such, and been commended by it once he lost control over the blasted thing, to the extent of getting a promotion that he considered long overdue. After spending millennia as a Tempter he finally stepped up to be a Minor Lord of Hell raising not only his salary but strengthening his powers.

He'd not really expected this to mean what it turned out to mean: that he was now getting more attention from Hell. It suddenly made the Arrangement a lot more risqué. The assignments didn't change all that much, other than less tempting and more of other things. Things that were more dangerous to Aziraphale if he was to perform them in Crowley's stead.

Of course, it didn't get better after he'd had to bail Aziraphale out of the Bastille soon after his promotion. When he'd gone there he'd not expected to have to use his powers for rescuing the angel, but he couldn't just let him get discorporated. Especially not after the angel accused him of being involved in the executions of French nobles.

Afterwards though, he brooded on his stupidity - and cursed Aziraphale's in turn for making him do it. For the first time since he ascended on Earth Crowley felt really and truly frightened. True, he'd never really liked his superiors - it was pretty much part of the job description for a demon - but he'd never worried that they would find him out and do something about it. After all, the Arrangement had been innocent as far as demon standards went. He was expected to be at least a little disobedient and toe the line. But rescuing angels? Their mortal enemies?

No. They'd not be happy with him at all if they knew. And if they knew of his fondness for the angel? Even worse. It was a fact that demons were a lot more frivolous with feelings whereas the angels were more restrained. They were encouraged to feel, but most of them lacked imagination to do so since they had once been angels after all. That said, Crowley didn't even want to think about what would be said about actual affection.

For the first time, Crowley truly started thinking of his superiors as Enemies. He knew they were far stronger than he was, so he'd have no hope fighting them fairly. He'd have to be clever. Outwit them. He just didn't know how. But for every time he met Aziraphale the fear grew, especially whenever the angel gave him that blasted look he couldn't resist. He was just glad the angel didn't use it nearly as often as he could have.

To soothe his worries slightly, and treat himself after his promotion, Crowley got his hands on some furniture that had been plundered from nobles during the Reign of Terror - golden, decadent things with blood red cushions on chairs and sofas, red expensive marble on the desks and pedestals. Among the furniture was a great four poster bed he filled with pillows and red silk sheets. Finally equipped with a decent bed and some peace as the frantic industrialisation developments fell into normality, he ceased the moment to indulge in another one of his favourite things: sleep.

As it happened, Crowley slept all through the Napoleonic wars[11] and by the time he saw it fit to get out and about again, the East India Company had gone down on its knees with the Indian Rebellion[12]. Nothing much else had happened, at least nothing Crowley thought worth noting, but he did have some rather unpleasant run-ins with his superiors. They were asking questions he couldn't really answer about the opium trade going down, and he made some up just to save his skin. He had the feeling they didn't like his excuses much, which made him more nervous than it usually would. He didn't want to draw the attention to himself.

After a few heart warming luncheons with Aziraphale, who had really taken to the 19th century and it's pleasures, Crowley spent some time trying desperately to cope with what would happen to him if someone - anyone - from Hell knew how he felt about the angel. In the end, he decided that if he were to trust anyone at all with his worries, it would be Aziraphale. Once he'd come to this point, he'd also had to face what he was really afraid of and what would be the only way to frighten his superiors into leaving him alone. He couldn't hurt them enough, he wasn't that powerful. But if he could scare them, it might be enough. Scare them - or kill them.

A plan started taking shape, but it took a few years before he found enough courage to setup a meeting with Aziraphale to discuss this very delicate matter. A matter that if anyone - anyone at all - knew...he'd be in much more trouble than he'd bargained for. But he felt he was running out of choices and there were centuries - even millennia - of proof of his and Aziraphale's friendship. They'd have his head if they knew.

The meeting had not gone as planned. He'd tried to explain to the worried angel that he wanted Holy Water to protect himself, but Aziraphale did not understand. Unfortunately he also went a step too far by calling what he and Crowley had 'fraternization'. It was too much for Crowley. His feelings had been worrying him for a long time, but he'd never thought of them as deep, as dangerous as this and he did the only thing he could, defending himself. Afterwards, when Aziraphale had gone and his fear and anger had subsided, Crowley felt more alone than he had ever done before. The only person he'd trusted had failed him. And he'd driven him away by his cowardice.

He never mentioned their discussion again, but he could not forget. Even after Aziraphale had turned up trying to patch their friendship together again. The betrayal was still raw. That, and Crowley had been forced to admit to himself that his feelings for the angel went beyond fondness, beyond caring. It was beyond brother's in arms or even such a human labels as family.

He loved him, and after watching Aziraphale happily letting him know he'd learned to dance the gavotte, he surrendered. It was too late. Far too late. He'd fallen without even noticing it, and it was too late to do anything about it now. It had been a long time since he'd been drinking heavily to drown his sorrows, but he did now. He was lonely, and scared if any of their sides would find out how he felt. But he just couldn't deny it to himself anymore.

At the turn of the century he managed to convince Aziraphale to install a new invention in his bookshop - the telephone. It was much safer - and much faster - than putting things into writing. Perhaps this was why the angel had finally given in. That and of course that the telephone of Swedish make was a really beautiful thing to look at[13] and fit perfectly with his book collection. The phone eased Crowley's mind slightly as there was less physical evidence that could get him into trouble, but he had far from forgotten the need to protect himself. He just didn't know how to obtain Holy Water without Aziraphale's help and didn't dare bring it up again now that they were on speaking terms again.

As Crowley busied himself with bringing about science as they stormed into the 20th century, he felt Aziraphale falling behind again. The angel didn't want to leave the 19th century behind and went hopelessly out of touch with everything from electricity to social events. He'd been far too fond of his comfortable life as a noble and didn't appreciate that London got noisier and brighter every day. And as much as he'd hated horses, he hated cars even more. Aziraphale resisted the 20th century with every fibre of his body, just as much as Crowley welcomed it, revelled in it. He even bought a car in 1926 - a beautiful, black Bentley. Crowley loved everything about it, from its leather seats to the curves and sound.

It was the only thing he didn't exchange when something newer was available on the market, which just went to show how much he loved that car. In its immaculate condition it didn't really matter that there were newer, more modern cars around, no one could look at it and not appreciate it as a beautiful thing.

He'd gotten Aziraphale to ride with him in it a few times when it had only done 40 mph at top speed, but as the cars around it grew faster, so did the Bentley[14]. Aziraphale did not appreciate it when cars started going faster than horses. Crowley had the feeling he was even slightly afraid of them, although the angel would not admit it when asked. Due to Aziraphale's complete inability to adapt to the 20th, Crowley couldn't help keeping an eye out for him to get him out of awkward situations arising from his lack of knowledge or simple gullibility.

It was this that eventually led Crowley to a church during the London Blitz, sirens howling, drowning out anything but the distant thunder that was bombs falling. He was standing outside it, knowing that Aziraphale was inside and had gotten himself into trouble. He had never put his foot in a church before and hesitated. He was sure it would not kill him, but equally sure that it would hurt to step on consecrated ground.

He wasn't wrong.

Feet burning, he managed to reach Aziraphale just in time to stop him from being discorporated, careful this time to not be the one to miracle Aziraphale safe. He couldn't afford it. It was bad enough that he was walking on consecrated ground for the angel. It was then he saw it. Holy Water. It had never struck him that it was available on Earth. At the time he had more pressing matters to attend to, though, and couldn't do anything about it. As he made the church explode, he felt warmth encompass him from Aziraphale's miracle, saving both of them from the rubble. Swallowing his feelings, Crowley handed the angel his books - saved by his own miracle - and fled the ruined church offering Aziraphale a lift home.

He first thought that the angel wouldn't accept the ride, as Aziraphale was left standing in the rubble for several minutes, holding the books and practically glowing. Then, the angel came alive and got into the car, letting Crowley drive him home without so much as a complaint. In return, Crowley kindly tried to not drive like madman, although he could hear Aziraphale draw a sharp breath now and then as he overtook corners. As they stopped outside Aziraphale's bookshop, the angel had looked at him, smiled very softly and thanked him, much to Crowley's embarrassment.

He'd gone home and taken to drink, the softness in the angel's expression haunting him for years afterwards. He loved him. He just couldn't help it, and he couldn't help himself trying to keep the angel safe.

But he really, desperately needed protection now. The deeper he went, the more dangerous it got, and any day now - any day - Hell might come knocking on his door wanting answers to exactly what Aziraphale was to him. And he couldn't tell them.

Over the next 26 years a plan started taking shape in Crowley's head, a plan that he had do set in motion without any suspicion being raised. Which meant that he couldn't use miracles because it would draw attention to him and for this, he really could not afford it. So for this particular plan, he used humans to do his dirty work. It turned out to be something of a mistake, because he'd forgotten a bad human trait he'd often used to his advantage before: humans were terrible at keeping this secret. He realised his mistake when Aziraphale turned up, desperately worried for him, pleading with him to call off the whole thing.

Tell him that he couldn't let him risk his life for this. And then he very carefully handed him a tartan thermos. The Holy Water Crowley had asked him for over a hundred years ago and been denied. He held it like it was made of glass. Aziraphale could just as well have given him a golden ring. The thermos was, in every way, a declaration of love that was not lost on Crowley. Aziraphale had risked getting into trouble himself for this, braved his fears just to keep Crowley out of harm.

And then he'd gone, leaving Crowley with a small, tartan thermos and feelings he didn't know what to do with. Tenderness. Love. Gratefulness. He'd driven home uncharacteristically slowly, and carried the thermos lovingly up to his apartment, where he locked it into his safe.

Aziraphale had given him a fighting chance when the house of cards finally fell down.

[1] Unless he was drowning his sorrows, in this case pretty much anything that was moderately drinkable would do as long as it got him drunk. It should be mentioned though that even then he favoured more expensive liquors.

[2] Caligula had him assassinated in 40 A.D. during a state visit. It seems he coveted the king's purple cloak.

[3] This was during the height of the Roman Empire, which meant a great part of Europe was technically Roman at the time.

[4] Since it was at the time the most powerful country in Europe he deemed it the safest place to lay low.

[5] Established 1478 but it was a few years before it got Hell's attention.

[6] 1603

[7] The Great Fire in 1666 that destroyed 70 000 of 80 000 of the populations homes.

[8] Soho was developed by Henry VIII in 1536 as a park but didn't become a district in its own right until 1680 when Soho Square was built.

[9] Most of the nobility moved out before the end of 19th century but Aziraphale remained.

[10] French Revolution started in 1789 but went overboard into the Reight of Terror during 1793-1794.

[11] 1803-1815

[12] 1857

[13] It was an L.M. Ericsson & Co. of Stockholm make and even Crowley had to admit it was fancy enough to suit Aziraphale's taste.

[14] This might have had something to do with Crowley, same as that it didn't need any fuel.


End file.
